


waiting

by castironbaku



Series: Commissions! [4]
Category: Tokyo Ghoul
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, furuhide, hidekane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:22:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castironbaku/pseuds/castironbaku
Summary: Hide doesn't know just how far and deep Furuta has broken him.-commissioned by sukerokucchi on tumblr!





	waiting

**Author's Note:**

> this is for shay! <3  
> could be considered a continuation of [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/10771587) but can also be a stand-alone fic

Hide’s cell was of an ample size. It wasn’t so small that it choked the mind and the body, nor was it so large that it afforded him some sense of value as a prisoner. It was somewhere in the middle, cruelly allowing him comfort while he languished in suffering that never ended because Furuta always, without fail, made sure of it. He could barely remember a time  _ before _ this cell and the man that came in and out every now and then. All of time condensed itself into a thick, syrupy concept without any way of knowing when one day became another, or when a month turned into a year. The four walls that surrounded him were the only things that reminded him of the passage of time at all, streaked regularly with his blood. The whole of it stank of him, but of course he didn’t know that, or care. All that mattered now was that when the barred door slid open and light spilled into the cell, it meant that wounds would be ripped anew.

“Good evening, my delicious little… rabbit.”

Hide sat with his back to the wall covered in his crusted, dried blood. His right leg was splayed in an unnatural angle before him. He didn’t acknowledge the greeting until Furuta stood in the space between his legs and sent his head reeling with a backhanded slap to the face. He vaguely felt his skull knock against the linoleum floor. His teeth rattled in his mouth but when he fell in a crumpled heap, he didn’t get up immediately. He didn’t have to. Already Furuta had him dangling by his wrists, his toes brushing against the floor.

“You’re in a pissy little mood, rabbit,” he hissed between his teeth, bringing his face close to Hide’s. “What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue? Oh, wait. That was me.” He threw his head back, dissolving into a fit of laughter that rang bounced to and from the walls until it was an indecipherable sort of noise, like the dissonance of a thousand animals making raucous uproar all at the same time.

Hide was again discarded onto the floor. His body pinned his broken leg beneath him and pain came in starbursts behind his eyes, turning his vision almost completely white. He heard himself cry out and moan in agony. He was barely aware of the tears that streaked his bloodied cheeks—crying was more muscle memory than actual feeling. Then Furuta’s fist was in his hair, roughly tugging him up to a kneeling position—more agony—and again he was faced with the neat slice of a mouth spread into a smile as warm as a bed of needles.

“You think you can entertain me with silence? I’ve already taken great pains to show you how much I  _ hate _ silence.”

A long moment passed and Furuta, incensed, slammed Hide face-first into the cement wall. Flakes of dried blood fluttered to the floor as he gasped with the initial shock. He had no time to brace himself for the second, the third, the fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh impact. His head rang with color and the sound of bone hitting wall, then just as he believed he was close to slipping into unconsciousness, he felt hot, searing pain in the back of his right thigh. He let out fragile breaths, a strangled cry of pain drawn out into long yet broken syllables. He felt the blood run down the length of his broken leg.

The pain doubled suddenly, for an instant, and Hide thought he could simply close his eyes and end it all, but Furuta knew, of all things, how to keep him awake and, worst of all, alive.

“He doesn’t want you back,” Furuta breathed into his ear. “He doesn’t belong to you. He doesn’t belong to anyone but death itself. You’re alone, rabbit. You’re all alone, with no one to save you.”

Hide felt a hot, wet length slide up the column of his throat and he couldn’t help the involuntary shudder of revulsion. 

“What is it like,” Furuta said against his sweat-slicked skin, “being human? Being so… fragile.” He dug his kagune deeper, almost touching bone. When Hide whimpered, he laughed softly. “Must be boring as fuck, being so absorbed in your own mortality.” He let his mouth run across the space between Hide’s throat and shoulder. “Well, rabbit? Are you dying of loneliness yet?” 

He sank his teeth into the soft flesh and couldn’t stop the laughter in his throat as he ripped out a small chunk of skin and muscle. Then he let Hide go, still laughing as he chewed and let chunks of blood-encrusted hair fall from his hand. He left the cell then, without a word of goodbye, and Hide stayed there, motionless, until he finally had the strength to cry.

* * *

He wasn’t sure how long had passed since then, but his shoulder had healed and his leg was on its way. Furuta had ordered surgeons and doctors to see to his recovery, as he always did. A corpse was useless for entertainment. He sat, once again, with his back against a wall, waiting, with his dull gaze set upon another wall in front of him.

Somewhere on the fringes of his senses, he heard screams, bodily thuds against the floor and suddenly he was aware of an unfamiliar stench. He heard the door unlatch, unlock, the tumblers within the metal disengaging and pulling back. He flinched at the sound of footsteps, but was otherwise uninterested. He waited.

“H-Hide…?”

He felt his heart wrench itself out of his chest, but the feeling couldn’t quite connect with the rest of himself. He was still waiting for Furuta’s laughter, that familiar smile and taunting, playful gaze. He felt someone touch his hand, trembling, clawed fingers digging into his wrist.

“Hide, it’s me, Kaneki.” The voice was soft, hoarse, and it tickled fragments of his memory, but it was as though his mind was separate from his body. He didn’t move, slumped against the wall like a broken piece of furniture.

There were one, two, three beats of silence. Then—

“I wish I hadn’t killed him,” the person—the thing—the man that held his hand spoke in a low, almost feral growl. “I should’ve made him pay a thousand times over for everything he did to you.” A pause slid into the cell and on its heels were choked sobs.

“Fuck,” said the sobs. “Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck _ .”

The sorrow was as thick as the stench of death, and Hide felt his body shiver with the realization. And yet he still couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak, he couldn’t so much as smile. His gaze was nowhere still, glassy and unfocused. Like a mountain cursed with sentience, he was motionless. He couldn’t command his hands to reach out to the man that lay bare and broken before him. He could only feel worthless, powerless in his own body. 

And so he sat, waiting.

Then, wordlessly, he wept.


End file.
